


Necromantic

by happygolovely



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Dark Comedy, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Reunions, Gotham Scale Of Moderate To Severe Death, Happy Murder Family, M/M, Necromancy, Only A Little Dead They Get Better, Slow Romance, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Touch-Starved, martin - Freeform, nygmobblepot week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 13:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14045448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happygolovely/pseuds/happygolovely
Summary: Oswald Cobblepot drowns in a river.Three days later he wakes up in the morgue of the GCPD.





	Necromantic

Edward Nygma had the stench of death. It hung over him like a toxic cloud, warding off everyone who saw it. Except for his customers. Unsavory sort. Not that it mattered. They paid their way, he raised their dead. Charged reasonable rates for reasonable people, unreasonable for unreasonable. If they didn’t care for his prices they could look elsewhere.

 

Dead men don’t leave bad reviews.

 

He had an excellent selection of bodies to choose from and specialized in mercenaries. An endless supply of muscle for Gotham’s criminal elite. He was well sought, his work exemplary.

 

It did not meet the standards of Oswald Cobblepot.

 

He bought nothing. Absolutely nothing. Came in twice a week. Wandered through rows of meticulously labeled glass boxes, bodies stacked. Categorized by age, height, weight, and gender.

 

Oswald barely spared them a glance. He only had eyes for the shopkeeper. The staring was becoming somewhat disconcerting. Skin peeled back, body laid bare at his feet. Exposed nerves, frayed edges.

 

He shouldn’t be enjoying it quite this much.

 

“Good afternoon, Mister Nygma.”

 

Snaps out of his reverie. Distraction. Cobblepot was a distraction.

 

“A pleasure as always, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure I could think of something.” Oswald fiddled with his cane. Nervousness on every inch of him.

 

Ed tended to have that effect on people. Usually, he didn’t care. This was different. This was business. His lack of social graces may be costing him the partnership of a lifetime. He supplied stock for every major gang in the city except Cobblepot’s. If he caught him, he would have a monopoly on necromancy.

 

He did the best he could to soften his edges, seem more approachable. Spoke softly, deferred in conversation. Rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down concealing the red stains, hoping that would offset his discomfort.

 

Oswald’s eyes lingered on his forearms and the fiddling increased tenfold. Ed wanted to reach over the counter and grab that cane. Bash someone’s head in with it, possibly his own.

 

“Do you see anything you like?” Oswald stopped breathing.

 

“I - I don’t know what you mean.”

 

Ed reached under the counter and pulled out the catalog, freshly printed. Green paper, black embezzled.

 

“The latest models are out. I’ve reconfigured the formula. Improved durability, efficiency, and neuroplasticity. No more mindless drones - dead in body not in spirit.”

 

Ed rambled on with his sales pitch intermingled with explanations on brain chemistry. Hands moving through the air in a graceless burst of enthusiasm. His skin usually pale, took on a brighter hue, flush with excitement.

 

Oswald felt warmth spread out from his chest all the way to his toes. Resurrection in green. He caught his hand in the middle of a tirade against his competitors. Ed blinked down at their joined hands and he quickly let him go.

 

“No need to talk me into it. Sold.”

 

“Really? Really real for realsies?”  

 

Oswald rolled his eyes fondly. “Yes. I can assure I am completely ‘for realsies’. However, I have some conditions.“

 

“Yes, of course. Anything you need, anything at all.”

 

“A trial run before I commit to a full shipment. Complete regeneration, memories intact. Body and soul, Mister Nygma. Nothing less.”

 

“I am not in the habit of giving out freebies. Bad for business.”

 

“Make an exception for me. It will be worth your while.”

 

Ed considered the matter carefully. It was a risky investment to be sure. A once in a lifetime opportunity with the king of the underworld. He couldn’t turn it down. “We have an agreement. Thank you for this opportunity, you won’t be disappointed.”

 

Oswald smiled.

 

“No, I don’t think I will be.”

 

* * *

 

Oswald became a more frequent customer after that. If one uses the term customer to mean someone who loitered about the shop getting in the way. Question after question, a curiosity to rival his own.

 

It would be endearing if it weren’t so irritating.

 

Eventually, they settle on a first subject. A man named Leonard who died under mysterious circumstances. Ed brings him back to life, tied to an electric chair.

 

“Welcome back! So good to have you with us, now if you could just fill out this brief survey outlining your experience that be swell. It will better inform futu-”

 

Oswald plunges a knife into Leonard’s neck. “Undead that’s what you said right? Unkillable.”

 

“Beyond death certainly, not beyond pain.”

 

“Good.” Oswald drove the knife in deeper. “I want him to feel this.”

 

He tore it out of his body and he slumped in the chair. Oswald snapped his fingers in front of his eyes.

 

“We have matters to discuss, you and I.”

 

He interrogated the man, pulling out records corroborating his statements. Delved into every facet of his life more deeply than any psychologist. Delighted to find him every inch the man he’s supposed to be. It speaks to Nygma’s skill and success rate.

 

“The facts all match up. You’re free to go.” Oswald looked at Edward.“Well? What are you waiting for? Kill him.”

 

“But Mister Cobblepot I already told you my subjects are near indestructible, it would be -”

 

“Death finds a way for us all. Do it.”

 

Ed endeavors without much success. Electrocution. Drowning. Shot. Maimed. Nothing breaks him. Stake through his heart pulls out clean, black blood dripping from his chest.

 

Decapitation. Tears the body into infinitesimal pieces and sets them on fire. Scatters the ashes all throughout Gotham.

 

“It’s done.” He says when the bell on the shop door rings. “The blood pact is sealed.”

 

Oswald smiles. “What if that hadn’t been me who walked through the door?”

 

“To be honest, you’re not the first person I've said it to. Scared off some folks but that’s alright. Herding out the weak.”

 

“You really don’t belong in the customer service industry.“

 

“They need to get a life. Or two dozen or so. Can’t afford to be squeamish.”

 

“There’s always that professor in midtown.”

 

Ed sneered. “Strange is a quack.”

 

“I couldn’t agree more.” He gets the feeling he just passed some sort of test. He should get a sticker for that.

 

“I am very impressed with your results, Mister Nygma. So much so I’ve decided to put you on retainer. On call.”

 

“I’m afraid my services don’t really work like that. I require preparation, equipment -”

 

“No, you really don’t. I saw you that night. Truly saw you. You’re not a scientist after all. You’re something else entirely.”

 

“What am I then?”

 

“Magic.” Oswald looks at him somewhere between awe and disbelief. “My mother told me stories you know, about your kind. I never put much stock in them till now.”

 

“I’m not a vampire if that’s what you’re thinking.”

 

“Alright no labels, I understand. Not terribly fond of them myse-”

 

Ed grabs him by the arm and leads him into his workshop in the back. Locks the door.

 

“You’re terribly loud and terribly wrong.”

 

“Prove me wrong then.”

 

Ed opens up one of the drawers, pulls out a body, could be anybody doesn’t matter who. A woman. Strikingly beautiful.

 

Takes off his latex gloves. Touches her lightly on the neck with the tip of his index finger. Her hair turns from red to gold. Eyes flutter open.

 

Ed’s fingers against her pulse. Her eyes close. He shuts the drawer.

 

“Not a monster, just a man. And all the more monstrous for that.”

 

Oswald places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

 

“Everything I touch withers and dies. I turn it into a business model.” He shudders with revulsion. “I’m disgusting.”

 

Oswald turns him around by his shoulders. “Look at me, Edward I need you to look at me.” He raises his eyes warily. “You took your greatest weakness and fashioned it into a strength. I understand that sentiment all too well.”

 

“It’s different with you, you’re different.”

 

“We are one and the same. I suppose that makes me a monster as well.”

 

“No no no don’t say that you’re-”

 

Alive. So vibrantly, furiously alive in spite of everything. Spite alone is what he lived on. Flowed through his veins just as assuredly as blood through anyone else.  

 

Slit his wrists and drink it. Bitter. Barbarous. Beautiful.

 

“You’re my favorite customer.”

 

“And you’re the friendly neighborhood necromancer.“

 

They laugh.

 

“You’re taking this much better than I anticipated.” Ed says, somewhat suspicious.

 

“This is Gotham, my friend. Impossible things are happening every day. Besides I have a confession of my own.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I have been lying to you for some time. Regarding my intentions.”

 

Ed’s pulse pounding in his ears.

 

“What are your intentions?”  

 

Oswald gathers his courage and a photograph out of his wallet.

 

A family portrait.

 

“Galavan took everything from me. My mother, my father -” His voice breaks.“My child. Bring them back to me.”

 

Ed has a strict policy against reviving family, friends, and lovers. It's messy, it's complicated and it's unsatisfactory. He broke this rule once, only once.

 

“I will take it into consideration.” He finds himself saying.

 

Oswald smiles and thanks him through watery eyes. Throws himself at him and wraps his arms around him, the most grateful touch Ed has ever know.

 

Resolve slips in a puddle to the floor.

 

The customer is always right.

 

* * *

 

Ed has never shared the full extent of his abilities with anyone including himself. That’s not to say he doesn’t take pride in his work. He just limits himself to what’s necessary, business before pleasure. Lost some of his sense of humor along the way.

 

Meets Oswald in the park for a consultation. Finds him on a bench, feeding pigeons seeds and grain from a plain brown bag. They crowd around him. Sit on his shoulders, arms, and knees. He doesn’t seem to mind. He coos at them. They coo back. A symphony.

 

Sits down next to him. A single bird hops off Oswald and sits on top of Ed’s hat. He lets it perch there.

 

“Enjoying the scene change?” Oswald asks him, more preoccupied with the birds than anything else.

 

“The view from here is lovely.” Admiring the way he holds them. A tenderness he has never displayed before. Oswald strokes a wing and a feather comes out accidentally.

 

He tucks it into the brim of Ed’s hat. The pigeon has decided it lives there now, doesn't care for this intruder in the nest. Oswald tickles it under its chin reassuringly. It bites his finger. He swats it on the beak and it flies away.

 

“Winged rat, not even good enough for a pie!” He yells.

 

Snickers. “You don’t play well with other birds.”

 

“They should know who’s the apex predator is, is all.”

 

“They’re pigeons, Oswald. They’re not trying to take over Gotham.”

 

“They’re a public nuisance and need to be exterminated.”

 

“Feeding them’s a funny way to show your dislike.”

 

Hands him the feeding bag. “They certainly seem to be enjoying it.”

 

Ed sniffs. Bitter almonds.

 

“The Audubon Society will hear of this.” He says as he distributes the poisoned seeds and grain. “You’ll get a strongly worded letter any day now.”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re a conservationist.”

 

“I like birds is all.”  

 

One of the pigeons on Oswald’s shoulder droops. Falls off. Ed catches it, cradles it with gloved hands.

 

Takes the glove off one hand. It flies once more.

 

“What do you expect me to do with all the bodies? There’s not a strong demand for a bird army.”

 

“Do with them what you wish. I simply wanted to see if you could perform animal transformations as well as human.” He’s still cooing sweetly to those birds. They don’t answer.

 

Less morning call, more mourning.

 

“You could have asked.”

 

“You could have lied.” He’s used to lies more often than not.

 

“I wouldn’t lie. Not to you.” Oswald raises an eyebrow. Not fooling either of them, not even himself.

 

“Alright how bout this: I will not knowingly and willfully deceive you unless you do the same. Lies of omission are off the table. Reciprocal honesty from here on.”

 

Oswald nods. “Let’s get down to strategy shall we.” Sweeps feathered bodies off his suit and pulls out blueprints. They look at least a century old.

 

“My family is buried in Galavan’s catacombs beneath the city. Difficult to access, heavily guarded. Tabitha doesn’t know I have these schematics.”

 

“Why not launch a full-scale assault?”

 

“Galavan managed to infiltrate my ranks once, his sister has no doubt done the same. I wouldn’t take just anybody with me.”

 

“And yet you’re taking me.”

 

“Mutually assured destruction. You know where the bodies are buried. I know what you do to them. How do you think your customers would react if they knew? You’d be taken and used at their discretion anytime they wished. At least I have the decency to ask first.”

 

“Blackmail.” Ed is thoroughly charmed.

 

“Call it an unreciprocated negotiation. Do you agree to my terms?”

 

Ed would have agreed to just about anything he suggested in that moment. Raise the dead, raise hell. It was the most fun he’d had in ages.

 

“You had me from the start.”

 

“Excellent. Now do something about these poor creatures, they’re starting to molt.”

 

Oswald hands him bird after bird. They form a grey cloud above his head. A swarm.

 

He flicks his finger and sends them in a spiral loop. They follow the motions of his hands, a conductor.

 

“Bird brains.” He explains. “Easily manipulated. Humans are tricky. Don’t flock together quite so much.”

 

“Like is drawn to like. They migrate eventually.”

 

“Actually, pigeons are one the few species that don’t migrate. They prefer to stay close to home.”

 

Home: a nebulous space between who he is and what he will become. Geographic location undefined.

 

The pigeon from his hat returns and sits next to Oswald on the arm of the bench.

 

They make amends. It rejoins the flock. Ed takes the feather from his cap and slips it into the pocket of Oswald’s jacket.

 

Homing beacon.

 

* * *

 

They leave in the morning dawn. The entrance to the catacombs deep in a forest, covered in vines. Dozens upon dozens of guards.Ed drops a flash bomb, Oswald shoots them all with a machine gun. They step over the bodies and towards the door.

 

Circular pattern, woven from vines. The plants snap at them viciously, Ed takes Oswald’s cane and beats them back. Oswald pulls a small vial out of his pocket, removes his gloves and pours the contents over his right hand.

 

Dripping red. The plants unfurl revealing the lock. Oswald presses his hand into it. The latch unseals. He wipes his hand off on the entrance wall, Ed hands him a handkerchief. He gets the rest of it off and drops the handkerchief to the floor along with the machine gun. Too heavy to be anything more than an encumberment now.

 

They make their way through the passage. Dust falls from the ceiling and Ed pulls his face mask up to cover his mouth. Oswald does the same with his. “That blood scan at the entrance, whose blood did you use?”

 

“Blood calls to blood, family seal of approval.”

 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”  

 

“Lovely little girl named Silver St. Cloud. Very helpful, well informed.”

 

A child. He killed a child. Ed stops in his tracks.

 

Oswald pats his arm. “She’s perfectly safe in the Swiss Alps, I assure you. Just a little blood that’s all, less than a pint.”

 

He nods, reassured if somewhat confused. “They took your child from you, you didn’t want to do the same?”

 

“Considered it. She has no place in this war. Losing Martin - I wouldn’t inflict that on anyone.”

 

“You’re a better man than Galavan, then.”

 

“I am a better man than most men. Present company included.”

 

“You think youse better than me?” He puffs his chest out, false bravado. “Put ya money where your mouth is ya mook.”

 

“That is by far the worst thing I have ever heard, well done.” Oswald’s voice dripping with disdain and affection, a rare combination only he can maintain. Ed laughs and leans against the wall to steady himself. The wall falls down and Ed with it.

 

Oswald quickly reaches a hand over the side and pulls him out. Ed tears a snake off his shoe tosses it back into the viper pit.

 

They would have to be more careful going forward. The brief brush with danger didn’t sober the mood. On the contrary, they traded quips and insults throughout.

 

Navigate a hazardous floor of hot coals laughing all the way. Walls press in on them and they slide easily with the motion, falling to the other side.

 

Fight back to back against a legion of guards. Protecting and anticipating each other, they move as one. Unstoppable. Insurmountable. An army of two.

 

They come to a crossroads. Sealed room. Patterns all over the walls, nearly identical. Seven exits.

 

“It’s a riddle.” Ed says delightedly, pulling out a magnifying glass and inspecting the walls.

 

“It’s a trap, is what it is.” Oswald didn’t like the unexpected unless it was himself.

 

“Where’s your sense of adventure, come on.” Ed was crawling on the floor, turned upside down for a better angle. He was thinking about this too literally. Time to get lateral.

 

“Left it in the quicksand room. Let’s get this over with, I don’t want to stay underground any longer than necessary.”

 

Over (with). Under (ground).

 

“Over and over the white cliffs of Dover. Under and under the star speckled sky.”

 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re saying.”

 

“We need to get above and below. Oswald come over here, you’ll find a lever on the bottom. Pull it on my signal.”

 

Ed reaches for the top and finds a latch hidden amidst the pattern. “Now.”

 

They pull and the locks open. The pedestal at the center of the room slides to the side, revealing a spiral staircase.

 

Oswald sighs “Dungeons are never handicapped accessible.”

 

“Very inconsiderate of them. We’ll be sure to get one with an elevator next time.”

 

“See that we do.”

 

They descend into darkness, Oswald complaining the entire time.

 

* * *

 

They find them in the crypt. Three glass coffins, side by side.

One much smaller than the rest.

 

Ed takes off his gloves and tucks them into his pocket, making sure every other inch of his body is covered. “After it’s over they can’t touch me directly, not ever. If they do they will revert back to their current state.”

 

“Understood.” They move the glass case off Gertrud’s body first. The lightest touch of Ed’s index finger to her forehead.

 

She rushes to Oswald and they hold each other, crying. She wipes the tears from his cheeks and speaks to him in hushed, foreign words.

 

Elijah next. He joins them, wraps arms around them both. Oswald at the center.

 

Martin. Oswald picks him up and holds him, tightly, fiercely. Gertrud and Elijah with a hand on each of his shoulders.

 

Ed doesn’t belong here with them. Slips out the door. Let them have their reunion in peace.

 

He turns a corridor and sees her. Rushes back to the room slams the door.

 

“We have a problem.”

 

“Tabitha.”

 

“Tabitha.”

 

“Did she see you?”

 

Ed shakes his head.

 

“That’s good.” Oswald pulls the blueprints out of his jacket and spreads them across the empty table. “There are three exits. The way we came, through the tunnels or by water. Follow me.”

 

“Anywhere.” He would follow him anywhere.

 

Oswald grabs a torch off the wall and leads them through the passageway, Martin clinging to his other hand.

 

Gertrud and Elijah in the middle, Ed guarding the flank.

 

Oswald turns a corner and opens a door. Fresh air. A series of steps on the side of a cliff overlooking the water.

 

He lets go of Martin’s hand. “I need you to be brave, my boy. Can you do that for me?”

 

Martin nods. Oswald kisses his forehead. “Be strong, be safe.”

 

He turns to Ed. “Look after them for me.” Takes a pistol out of his jacket. “Go. Now.”

 

Ed grabs his arm. “I’ll find you when all this is over. I promise.”

 

“You’ll find me in pieces, my friend. Thank you for everything. ”

 

Ed starts to say something, he doesn’t know what. Oswald shoves him down the steps. Slams the gate shut.

 

Turns around. Leans casually against the wrought iron.

 

“Tabitha, darling. You’re looking sharp as ever.” She holds a stiletto knife to his throat.

 

“Graverobber. What have you done with the bodies?”

 

“Technically they were not in their graves. And you can’t steal what’s yours.”

 

“I should've killed you a long time ago. You took my family.”

 

Oswald hits her in the stomach with the pistol and backhands her.

 

She falls to the ground, he holds the gun to her temple.

 

“You took mine first.”

 

She spits blood out her mouth. “For what it's worth, I am sorry. About the boy.”

 

He cocks the gun. “Remorse doesn’t become you. Death will.”

 

She tackles him to the ground, shoves his face in the dirt. He pistol-whips her and stands up. She swipes the whip to his cane and he tumbles to the ground. She picks him up by the hair and drags him to the face of the cliff, kicking and screaming.

 

Holds him over the edge.

 

“I am sorry. Sorry he can’t speak. I wanted to hear him scream.”

 

Throws him into the water and lets the currents carry him away.

 

* * *

 

Oswald Cobblepot drowns in a river.

Three days later he wakes up in the morgue of the GCPD.

 

Kiss to the center of his palm.

 

_come back to me, even as a shadow, even as a dream_

 

Dark hair turns to light. His eyes open.

 

Ed stands over him, smiling through tears. Fractured stained glass.

 

“What’s black and white and dead all over?”

 

Oswald chokes on a laugh. “That would be me.”

 

Pulls on his latex gloves and helps him off the slab.

 

“Let’s get you home.”

 

Home: the rapidly shrinking space between them, the touch of his hand.

 

Ed pulls another pair of gloves from his lab coat pocket.

 

Black satin. Slides them on. Takes his outstretched hand.

 

Latex against satin.

 

They walk home hand in hand.

 

* * *

 

 

Ed barely has time to hang up his hat before he’s bombarded by birds. A flock of penguins nestled around Oswald, and himself pressed up against the front door. He holds his hands up in the air to avoid touching anyone.

 

Gertrud and Oswald are sobbing, Elijah consoling them both through tears of his own. Martin crawls through their legs to Ed.

 

Hugs Ed’s legs pulls back and smiles.

 

Holds up a pad of paper.

 

_THANK YOU FOR SAVING PAPA_

 

Ed nods. “You’re welcome. Your father has been a good friend to me, I couldn’t bear to lose him.”

 

Martin looks at him shrewdly. Scribbles on his paper.

 

♡?

 

Ed looks at Oswald. Surrounded by the people he loves.

 

“He is the most extraordinary person I have ever met. I care for him deeply.”

 

Martin nods, seemingly satisfied.

 

_STAY_

 

“I really shouldn’t, this is a family affai-”

 

_YOU’RE FAMILY. FAMILIES STAY TOGETHER._

 

“Very well, if you insist. You’ll have to show me the ropes.” Ed’s never been very good at having a family.

 

He puts his gloves back on and Martin takes his hand and leads him to into the dining room.

 

Oswald sits at the head of the table and Ed across from him, on the other side of the table. Martin next to Ed as they exchange drawings.

 

Ed’s technical and schematic, Martin’s more abstract. They flow together across the page. He is surprisingly advanced for his age.

 

Makes a note to research art schools. Oswald moves to sit next to them and steals the sketchpad. His drawings are less than successful. Ed and Martin silently mock him.

 

Oswald throws the pen down and glares at them. Martin draws an x over the page and rips it out of the notebook. Ed crumples it up and throws it in Oswald’s face. It dissolves into a paper war.

 

Ed and Martin hide under the table as Oswald attacks them with paper airplanes. Martin enlists Ed to make a paper tank. He assembles it quickly along with an army of foot soldiers.

 

Martin sends them out and vanquishes Oswald easily. He holds up a white handkerchief in surrender. They negotiate a peace treaty on a napkin. As Martin signs the final agreement, Oswald instructs him on his form and congratulates him on his success.

 

Then he rips the document in half and holds it over a candle till it catches fire. Burns to ash.

 

“First lesson in warfare: A man is only as good as his word. Words mean absolutely nothing. Trust none but yourself.”

 

_NOT EVEN YOU?_

 

Oswald ruffles his hair affectionately. “Trust me not to coddle you. If I loved you less, I would spoil you more. Do you understand?”

 

Martin nods. Deliberates for a moment.

 

_IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT. WHAT HAPPENED._

 

Oswald disagrees. “I’ll be the judge of that. Now go wash up, it's almost time for dinner.”

 

He sits down next to Ed, brushes the ash of his suit.

 

“He’s right you know. You can’t hold yourself responsible for another man’s actions. You did everything in your power to protect them.”

 

Oswald sighs and pours them both a scotch. Rocks and otherwise.

 

“A father is always perfect in their child’s eyes.”

 

Ed looks hollow. “That is certainly not true, not in most cases. You made a mistake, rectified it. That’s all that can be done.”

 

“It should never have happened in the first place - do you know what it is to watch the person you love most in this world die in your arms?”

 

“I do, in fact.” Knows it very well. Oswald reaches for his hand.

 

“Edward, forgive me I didn’t -” Ed squeezes his hand reassuringly.

 

“Apologies are unnecessary and unwarranted. It was some time ago and entirely my own doing. What’s gone and past change is past grief. Don’t waste the time you have together punishing yourself.”

 

Oswald looks up suddenly, tightens his grip on Ed’s hand. Clears his throat. “A precious thing wasted. Wouldn’t want to do that. Edward-”

 

Gertrud waltzes into the dining room, Elijah following close behind her. Carrying trays and laughing at a private joke between them. Oswald wants that. That ease, that comfort.

 

They set the trays down on the table and he whispers something in her ear, holding her close. She hits him with a wooden spoon, he dodges and runs, she chases him back into the kitchen.

 

Oswald lets go of his hand. He will never have spontaneous, casual gestures. Every movement between them measured out, rationed carefully. Affection by the spoonful.

 

He wants to drown in it, settles for a sip.

 

Takes his napkin off the table and folds it neatly in his lap.

 

More ravenous than ever and entirely unsatisfied.

 

* * *

 

Rising from the dead has become something of a habit for him, though never quite like this. Oswald inspects himself in the mirror. No outward signs of his transformation except the hair. He frowns. Blonde’s not his best. Too pale, sickly.

 

A knock on the bathroom door. He straightens his jacket self consciously.

 

“In a minute.”

 

Ed comes in anyway, holding a bottle of hair dye. “Something to make you feel like your old self again.”  

 

He takes the bottle out of his hand and smiles at the label. Back To Black. “That’s very thoughtful, although I would prefer to go to a salon.”

 

“Unwise under the circumstances. Tabitha still believes you to be dead. No public appearances until you’ve had a chance to regroup.”

 

“Is that an order?”

 

“A suggestion, though I could make it an order if you like.”

 

“I don’t need anyone telling me how to live my life.”

 

“Your life is not your own. You owe me a debt and I intend to collect. Not now but soon.”

 

“Whatever payment you deem suitable. If I may ask one more thing before you go?”

 

Ed leans against the door. “Yes, of course.”

 

He holds up the bottle. “Could you assist me with this? I’ve never been very good with hair.” Filthy lie, he’s entirely self-reliant.

 

Ed raises an eyebrow in amusement.

 

“As you wish.”

 

They bring in a chair and lay newspapers out on the floor underneath. Oswald sits down, removes his jacket and cufflinks. Hands them to Ed. Wraps a towel around himself till it covers as much as possible.

 

Ed brushes out his hair which still smells like river water. Snaps on latex gloves and takes a jar of vaseline out of the cabinet. Sticks two fingers in, coats his fingers in gel. Spreads it over his ears, hairline, and neck to ensure the dye rinses off easier.

 

Oswald is surprisingly ticklish, especially around his ears. “Stop moving so much, you're making it harder than it has to be.”

 

Pushes him down firmly into the chair by the shoulders and Oswald puts up a token resistance before giving in.

 

“I didn’t expect it to be so cold that’s all.” Ed flicks his ear.

 

“Get used to it. If you don’t like it, do it yourself.”

“Why would I? That’s what you’re around for.”  

 

Mixes the dye and developer in a white ceramic bowl until he’s satisfied with the color. Takes out the paint brush and shows it to him. Oswald nods his approval.

 

“Proceed.”

 

Divides the hair up into four sections. The texture is softer than he expected. Light, downy. He runs his hands through it once, twice.

 

“Is everything alright?” Oswald tilts his head back and looks at him.

 

He removes his hands slowly. “Inspecting your roots. You’ve never done this before?”

 

“I’m a natural.” Doesn’t that just figure.

 

He applies the color carefully. Takes his time. “You should consider adding something. Purple would suit you.”

 

“You think so?” Flattered, preening. “We could try that next time.”

 

Ed smiles. Next time.

 

Sets a timer for the color to dry. Takes a wet cloth and wipes excess dye from his neck and forehead. Hands him a shower cap.

 

They sit alone in the living room by the fire. Everyone else fast asleep in their beds.

 

Oswald covers up his hair with a towel. Ridiculous, he looks absolutely ridiculous. Not much better than the alternative. Death, a bad hair color. Who's to say which is worse.

 

Elijah has already altered his own hair, citing experience with grey hairs. Gertrude enjoys the color, makes her feel young. Martin is still deciding.

 

Barring decapitation, Oswald and his parents will stay as they are for the rest of their lives however long that may be. Martin is the unknown factor. Ed has never worked with children, too many variables.

 

He could grow to be a perfectly healthy, perfectly immortal young man. He could stay a child forever. Cherub. Golden curls, soft smile. Far, far too good for Gotham. He needs to be sheltered from its harshness and cruelty. No one embodies harshness and cruelty more than Oswald himself. Perhaps he doesn’t deserve any of them, perhaps he never did.

 

“It's not safe here. We need to get them out of the city.”

 

Ed nods, he thought as much while they were planning the rescue mission.“I’ve taken the liberty of arranging passage for your family. The ship leaves in the morning.”

 

Oswald smiles at him. “You always think of everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

 

“You certainly could have, I have no doubt of that. Though I consider myself lucky to have been a part of a grand adventure.”

 

“Everything you’ve done for me, how can I ever repay you?”

 

_keep me take me with you let me sleep at the foot of your bed wrapped around your finger it doesn’t matter where let me be yours_

 

The timer goes off, gloves back on. Leads him to the sink and rinses his hair with warm water. Oswald sighs happily and leans back, eyes closed. The picture of contentment.

 

He spots a pair of silver scissors on the basin. Slowly, carefully he cuts off a lock of hair. Tucks it into his pocket.

 

Memento mori.

 

* * *

 

They retire for the evening and Oswald shows him up to the room. Candlestick in hand, fire flickering, they ascend to the attic. A dusty, old room crammed with antiques and old portraits. Painted eyes watching them. Twin beds at the center. A thin gossamer curtain between them.

 

Oswald bids him goodnight and moves to his side. Places the candlestick on his nightstand, as he takes off his jacket. A silhouette against the shadows. He can almost see him clearly.

 

Ed turns on his side and buries his head in the pillow. Keeps his hands to himself and buries his heart under the floorboards. Years later someone will pull up the rotten wood and find it still beating.

 

Secrets carry well in old homes, echo against the walls. He can hear the sounds of him across the room. Hair still wet against the pillow. Tossing and turning in his sleep.

 

Ed closes his eyes, a fog settles over him.

 

_A pier at dawn. A figure walking through grey mists. It approaches him and tips its hat. He can not make out its features, a black lace veil around its face, eyes hooded. Sharp smile cuts him to the core._

 

_Ed lies bleeding against the dock. Birds circling over him, scavengers. Oswald smiles down at him and removes his gloves, throwing them at his feet. They disintegrate and melt into the wood._

 

_Carefully lifts the veil, the funeral shroud. Dips his fingers in the blood stemming out from his chest. Caresses his own cheek, staining it red. Runs his fingers over his lips. Sucks._

 

_Blood in mouth, water in lungs. Drowning is a kind of kindness._

 

Wakes up to the call of a bird outside the window. Oswald still fast asleep. The veil between worlds paper thin and easily punctured.

 

It would be the easiest thing in the world to tear it in half. To reach out and touch him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give for that moment. The moment would pass and he would be left with nothing. Worse than nothing.

 

Oswald dead in his arms. He’d rather never have him at all.

 

He wraps himself up in a sheet and puts on his glasses. Goes to the circular window and opens it. A raven lands on the windowsill. He coaxes it into his hands, snaps its neck. Takes the lock of hair he got from Oswald and wraps it around its foot, tight and secure.

 

He touches it and it flies to his eye level. Tilts its head curiously.

 

“There’s something I need you to do for me.”

 

* * *

 

The ship in the harbor, a foggy morning. Gertrude and Elijah hold Martin’s hands and usher him onboard. Their luggage carried in behind them.

 

Ed and Oswald linger on the dock, reluctant to part. Ed takes out the itinerary, goes over the checklist. Bags packed, passports falsified, identities stolen. Everything as it should be.

 

“One more. You meet a man in Montreux -”

 

“- who has a wife whose built from screws. Nuts and bolts, electric face. How many times does one man take? Clockmaker. Stop stalling, your riddles are getting predictable.”

 

Ed beams with pride. His travel agenda has riddle checkpoints and he needs to be sure they pass all of them. Failure to pass one checkpoint will alert his network and an emergency contingency plan will be put in place. Oswald has passed every test with flying colors.

 

“Indulge me. Now in order to ensure your safety, I’ve drafted these documents pending approval from -”

 

“You should come with us if you’re so concerned.” Oswald shuffles his feet. “There’s still plenty of room aboard.”

 

“The other passengers -

 

Oswald straightens his gloves. “I called this morning and purchased the rest of the tickets. And the ship. And the company.”

 

Ed smiles and shakes his head. “Oswald, you are so -”

 

The click of a revolver.

 

“Dead. He is so dead. Can’t even do that right, can you?”

 

Oswald turns around. “Barbara, come to kiss me goodbye? I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. Parting is such sweet such and such.”

 

They kiss each other's cheeks and Barbara points her gun at Ed. “Who’s the stiff?”

 

“No concern of yours.” Ed glares at her, Oswald pulls him closer to his side. She eyes the shrinking space between them.

 

Ed’s hand twitches for the switchblade in his pocket and she laughs.

 

“Ozzie, I didn't know you liked em tall, dark and homicidal.” She looks Ed up and down. “Can I borrow him?”

 

Oswald stomps off to the ship, dragging Ed behind him. Ed waves goodbye. “Get your own. Now if you will excuse us, we have a schedule to keep to.”

 

“We’ll join you, we could play doubles.” She bats her eyelashes. “I’ll even let you lose.”

 

“Tabitha and I aren’t on the best of terms. Perhaps another time.”

 

“Yeah, you did my girl dirty didn’t ya?” Something in her seemed to soften. “Lucky for you I got a soft spot for strays. Play dead.”

 

The crack of a whip through the air as it wraps around Oswald’s neck and brings him down to the ground.

 

Tabitha presses her heel into his spine and digs in. “Stay down.” She twists tighter until his neck snaps. “Good boy.”

 

Ed holds up his hands placatingly. “Ladies, as you can clearly see I’m not affiliated with all this. The stage is yours.”

 

Tabitha doesn’t even grace him with a glance. “Who’s this supposed to be?”

 

“The merchant of death.” He holds out a business card. “I specialize in bespoke brutality. Your one-stop muscle shop.”  

 

Emerald shine, black varnish. Riddle Factory.

 

“You supply the Narrows right?”

 

“Expanding into the Diamond District.”

 

Barbara nods thoughtfully. “We could use a guy. Strange has gone belly up. They found him floating a couple weeks ago.”

 

“If you would like a demonstration that can be arranged.” He whistles. “Here they are now.”

 

A flock of birds flies in and pecks them, going for the eyes. Barbara fires wildly into the air and Tabitha grabs her, drags her behind crates. Ed pulls Oswald off the ground and hauls him onto the ship, peers over the side. They’re still firing at them.

 

“You can stop pretending now.”

 

Oswald twists his neck back into place, adjusts his tie.

 

“I give good dead.”  

 

Ed takes a gun out of his waistband. “Smug isn’t your color. You’re fooling no one as usual.”

 

“Barbara asked me to, she must have her reasons.”

 

They crawl across the deck, avoiding gunshots. Ducking and weaving.

 

“Barbara is a severely deranged individual. I like her. Shame we’re gonna kill her.”  

 

“Must we? It’s not her fault she has bad taste in women.”

 

Canon fire rips through the side of the ship. Oswald presses him down against the floor, covering as much of him as he can. Ed moves out of the touch, trying to avoid skin to skin contact.

 

Oswald breathes heavily against him and Ed’s hands circle his waist. Feels the sides of his hips through the fabric. “The timing is not ideal but I was wondering -”

 

“Hold that thought.” Oswald gets off him and takes off one of his shoes, removes the lift. Opens up a compartment, takes out a grenade.

 

Yanks the pin with his teeth and throws it out the porthole.

 

“That ought to hold us awhile.”

 

Fire behind him as destruction rains down. Sharp, fierce smile.

 

“You wanted to tell me something?” He rolls up his pant leg and pulls a knife from his sock garter. Where is he keeping all this weaponry, if Ed had time to investigate more thoroughly perhaps -

 

He holds the door open and reminds himself that they’re in a dire situation.

 

“Get your shoes on. We got places to be.”

 

They head down the corridor and pass the kitchen

 

Oswald has an improbably large supply of weapons stashed about his person and hands him various implements. Ed is going to have to ask him later about his pockets which must be interdimensional.

 

They pass through the kitchen. Ed grabs napkins and a bottle of vodka. Oswald hands him a lighter and takes a swig from the vodka.

 

They make their way up the grand staircase and to the suite. Oswald kicks down the door. Elijah and Gertrude handcuffed to the radiator. Gertrude is picking the lock with her hairpin.

Ed gets on the floor and assists her.

 

“They have Martin.” Elijah tells them solemnly, pulling Gertrude off the ground. She leans into him for support. “The engine room. Twenty minutes.”

 

Ed pulls pens out of his pocket and hands one to Oswald. They start writing furiously all over the wall, planning their attack.

 

“We’re coming with you.”

 

“All due respect, you’ve been through an ordea -”

 

“It’s best not to argue with her.” Oswald says distractedly, dumping the contents of his person out on the table. Guns, so very very guns.

 

Elijah goes to the bar and pulls out a bottle of cognac. “Molotov, anyone?”

 

Ed brings out his vodka bottle and they tap them together. Gertrud is putting her hair up with knitting needles from her bag. Oswald shows her how to dip them in poison without injuring herself and throw them at targets. She’s picking it up surprisingly fast. Apple, tree, adjacent.

 

He could get used to having a family after all.  

 

* * *

 

 

Steam from the engines, humid air. Ed dabs his forehead with a handkerchief, tucks it into his pocket. Puts on his hat and straightens it. Sees himself in the reflection of a machine. Naval uniform, freshly pressed. His reflection winks at him, whistles. “Howdy sailor.”

 

He ignores him, he’s not worth talking to.  

 

Sneaks in through the service corridor and down to the control panel. Opens a fuse box full of wires. Disables the alarm system. Sets a timed device in the box and starts the countdown. In thirty minutes the lights will go down.

 

It’s easy enough to slip in amongst the rest of the crew. Easier still to kill them. Their bodies lying on the floor, steam obscuring their faces.

 

Takes a copper pipe and smashes into the engines. Sabotages them beyond all hopes of repair. He summons his men and they snap to attention, a neat line of toy soldiers. They salute him.

 

“Gentlemen, officers and otherwise - I brought a little something for you.” He opens up his silver case and takes out a gun amidst many. “Now as you can see this has been modified -”

 

A thick hand wraps around his neck and chokes him. Lifting him up in the air.

 

“I bet the girls will be real happy to see you.” The man says throwing him to the floor. “God knows why you’re not exactly a looker.”

 

Oswald steps out of the steam and presses a gun to his back. “Speak for yourself, Butch. A little assistance?”

 

Ed laughs and snaps his fingers. “Sic em boys.” The crew is on him at once, holding him down to the floor. Butch fights back, a dozen or so of them hold onto his arm and one breaks it. Butch howls in pain and Oswald batters him over the head with a copper pipe.

 

He keeps going long after he’s dead. “Dear, would you bring our newest associate up to speed?”

 

Ed slaps him back to life. Oswald grins delightedly. Iron sharpens iron, friend sharpens friend. Cutting and caring, one and the same.

 

Ed orders his employees around and Oswald instructs the newly christened Solomon on his duties.

 

“Escort me to the drop off point. You’ll know when the time is right.”

 

Solomon nods. Oswald smiles and pats his cheek. “I knew you’d be a good investment.”

 

Ed tips his hat and he’s on his way.

 

Solomon leads Oswald to the center of the engine room. Barbara and Tabitha on a platform looking down on him. They exit on opposite sides of the staircases and meet at the middle in front of him.

 

Barbara is not happy to see him, Tabitha certainly is. “Been dying to do this again.” She shoots him.

 

He looks calmly down at the hole in his chest. “You’ll have to do better than that.” Takes the bullet out and flicks it to the floor. “Now - where is he?”

 

“The bottom of the harbor. Sealed cage. He’s got a couple hours of oxygen left.” Barbara almost manages to look sympathetic. “He’ll make it.”

 

“Tell us how to kill you and we’ll make all the arrangements.”

 

“Spare the child and the others. “

 

Tabitha smiles insincerely. “You have my word of honor.”

 

She looks very much like her brother in that moment.

 

“The resemblance between you and dear Teddy is uncanny. You both look like death.”

 

Solomon pulls the switch. The lights go out. Guns firing. The room fills with water and Oswald attaches a cord to his waist and tugs. The rope pulls him up out of the water and onto the platform where Ed waits for him. Gertrude and Elijah beside him.

 

Ed hands him the night vision goggles and he watches as Barbara struggles to remove her thick fur coat which is dragging her under. Tabitha clings to a pipe, her legs wrapped around it as she reaches for her.

 

Solomon floats, tied to the staircase. Waves at them. They wave back and a crewmember hauls him out and flops him onto the platform. He lies there and Ed kicks him. No response. Ed shrugs.

 

“Martin is underwater, somewhere beside the ship. They caged him like an animal.”

 

Ed pulls a walkie-talkie out of his coat and instructs the crew. “I have them looking. We’ll find him.”

 

They start to leave. Oswald places a hand on Gertrud’s shoulder. “You can handle this.” She pulls the needles out of her hair and sharpens them.

 

Elijah nods. “We will. Go get our boy.” Ed hands him the cognac bottle and Elijah lights it, throws it in Barbara’s direction. Her screams follow them out.

 

They run through the corridors and up the stairs to the bridge. Crewmen moving about frantically. Oswald demands a status report. Nothing as of yet.

 

Ed looks at the clock. By his calculations, Martin has less than forty-five minutes of oxygen left. Presuming Barbara was telling the truth.

 

He’s already dead but he still needs to breathe, granted much less than the average person. This expands their time window fractionally. “I’m going to get a better look at things.” He says. Oswald doesn’t even hear him, head bent over a nautical map.

 

He heads up the stairwell to the main deck and finds the lookout post. Climbs the railings along the side till he gets to the roost. Bird’s eye view. Summons the crow. It looks at him with blue eyes.

 

“Find him.” He holds out Martin’s sketchbook. It cocks its head and flies away.

 

Returns to him with a murder. The crows form a bridge and he walks out over the water.

 

Dives in.

 

Martin sits in the cage, legs crossed. Eyes closed. His oxygen mask off and attached to the door frame. He seems to have used the breathing apparatus to trigger some kind of release system. It's not effective but the effort is there. Very much his father’s son.

 

Ed opens the cage door and Martin opens his eyes. They smile at each other and swim back to the surface.

 

Oswald meets them in a rowboat and Ed puts Martin in first then climbs aboard. They make their way back to the ship and climb up the ladder. Ed followed by Martin then Oswald. As soon as his feet hit the deck the floor is yanked out from under him.

 

“Now look what you’ve done: dripping all over the floor like that.” Barbara sits on a lounge chair, fanning herself, a gun behind the fan. Her hair frizzled and slightly burnt. Tabitha lies next to her, her face covered in scratch marks. They look remarkably like stitching.  

 

Gertrud and Elijah bound and gagged at their feet.

 

Oswald moves protectively in front of Martin and Ed moves in front of him. Tabitha laughs and takes Barbara’s gun from her, with a kiss to her wrist.

 

“All lined up like good little ducklings.” She fires and the bullet hits Ed first, travels through him into Oswald and Martin. Falls out the other side of him and onto the deck.

 

They feel nothing. Ed feels everything. Falls and Oswald catches him, gently lowers him. Ed’s hands move over his chest, looks down at the red spreading. Oswald’s gloved hands frantically scramble for the wound pressing down on it.

 

Barbara and Tabitha sweep past them. Barbara ruffles Oswald’s hair as she goes. “Enjoy retirement, Ozzie. You deserve this.”  

 

His hand grabs hers. “If he dies, I’m burying you beside him.”

 

Tabitha wraps an arm around Barbara’s waist and helps her walk, three good legs between them. “If she dies, so do they.”

 

Oswald nods his agreement. They walk out of the blood and into the morning air.

 

Martin pulls out a pocket knife and tries to free his grandparents

 

Oswald holds Ed’s face in his hands, blood from his gloves staining his cheeks. Ed sighs and leans into the touch.

 

“Why,” He demands overwhelmed with fear and rage. “Why would you do something so incredibly stupid?”

 

Ed smiles faintly. “Instinct, I suppose.” He looks over at Martin with his grandparents. “Families stay together.“

 

“Then stay. Don’t leave me, don’t you dare do that to me.” He begs desperately, fingers laced through his wound.

 

Ed’s gloved hands cover his own. “Anything for you.”

 

His eyes start to close.

 

Oswald sobs and glares at him through his tears grips tightly to his shirt.

 

Kisses him. Desperately and fearfully. All the love in his soul, all the hate in his heart coalesced into bone deep certainty. Life itself meant nothing absolutely nothing without him. Happy daggers pressing into him. Death cannot touch love. Cannot break it.

 

Dark turns to light. Ed’s hands reach up for him. The breath of life between their lips.

 

Ed smiles.

 

Oswald pulls back and takes his gloves off, throws them into the water. Runs his hands over his face, followed by grateful kisses to every inch of it. Lips and hands and hearts. Ed arches up into the touch and pulls him down to kiss him thoroughly, fatally.

 

His hands reach for the buttons on Oswald’s jacket and Elijah coughs. They pull back from each other and blink. Gertrud is leading Martin up the stairs away from the life-affirming scene.

 

Elijah looks at them disapprovingly.

 

Hides his face in Ed’s shirt. “How much of that did he see?”

 

Elijah tsks. “Fortunately for your dignity, nothing much. Enough to know you’re alive, well done on that Edward. Alive and well enough to be an absolute embarrassment to us all.”

 

Oswald opens his mouth to protest but Elijah beats him to it.

 

“We’re delighted for you. Gertrud owes me twenty dollars in fact. I told her it would be something overdramatic and ridiculous and here we are.”

 

He gestures to where they are still lying on the floor and they quickly scramble up, straightening themselves up. Ed holding his hand with no intention of ever letting go.

 

Elijah shakes his head at them fondly. “We’ll meet you for dinner on the observation deck.”

 

He tosses them a room key and Ed catches it. Drags Oswald down the stairs and into their room. White canopy bed. Oswald pushes him down into the satin sheets and kisses him.

 

Finally, finally, finally after all this time. Ed snores

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Ed is stretched out across the bed, taking up the entire thing. A very long day. He died less than an hour ago. Exhaustion is to be expected.

 

Oswald takes off his shoes, jacket, and cufflinks. Folds them up and places them on the bedside table. Takes off Ed’s shoes, tie, and hat. Places them next to his own items. Unfurls his tie and leaves it wrapped to the bed frame. Closes the curtains around them.

 

Crawls into the space between his left arm and the edge of the bed. Ed snuffles into his collarbone and wraps his arms around him. Squeezes tight, too tight. A sleeping python suffocating. Oswald barely manages to escape, stealing a pillow.

 

He sleeps at the foot of the bed. Wakes up to find long limbs wrapped around him.

 

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

 

Oswald smiles and kisses him. Mourning past, morning begun.

 

* * *

 

 

Edward Nygma has the touch of life. Tries his hand at repairing something for once instead of destroying. Surprised to find he’s quite good at restoration.

 

Life never really stops beginning.

 

The engines start up again. He crawls out from under them, covered in grease. He passes his tools to the crew and Solomon hands him a towel. The dead are such good help.

 

Walks to the dining room, trailing grease behind him. Oswald is sure to give him an earful for this. Ed stops at a mirror and spreads more grease around his face and hair just to irritate him. He’s still not used to the blonde. It's a little too cold, too severe.

 

Oswald disagrees with him entirely, assures him he looks dashing. His judgment is somewhat questionable. Positive bias.

 

He finds them at the center table and sits down next to Oswald and kisses him lightly in greeting, smearing grease all over his nose. Oswald takes out a handkerchief and fusses predictably.

 

Ed hands him the towel instead and Oswald devotes the next several minutes to getting them both clean. Gertrud shakes her head at their antics and steals fruit off Elijah’s plate. Elijah and Martin deep in conversation, moving too fast for Ed’s poor understanding of sign language. He’s a quick study, he’ll pick it up soon enough.

 

After dinner, he and Oswald go over nautical charts on deck, more focused on the wine and each other than anything else. Ed teaches him about astronomy and guides his hands till he sees all the constellations. Oswald tells him he’s a renaissance man. Ed takes him back to their room to demonstrate the breadth of his knowledge. Repeatedly.

 

Oswald grows increasingly unsettled the further they get from Gotham, easily agitated. On more than one occasion he catches him on the observation deck, staring out at the horizon.  

 

Becomes withdrawn and depressed. Lashes out at all of them frequently with the exception of Martin. One time he loses his temper with Martin and yells at him. Something must be done.

 

Ed gathers them in the servants quarters, the only place Oswald is sure not to look.

 

“We have a problem.”

 

_PAPA’S NOT HAPPY_

 

“He’s really not.  What are we going to do about it?”

 

Writes down all off their suggestions some more practical than others. He sincerely doubts Gertrud’s are achievable since they mainly involve some variation on ‘kill everyone’ and they need the crew for the foreseeable future. Violence would solve everything except there’s no one to be violent against not with their limited resources.

 

Ed briefly contemplates Oswald being aggressive against him in an entirely different context and quickly puts it out of his mind. He’s in mixed company, it’s not appropriate. Besides, he would never agree to anything that would hurt Ed, no matter how tempting or temporary.

 

Elijah’s suggestion of booze would have more merit if Oswald wasn’t already depleting their supply at an alarming rate. It is very, very fortunate that he now has an immortal liver. Ed doesn’t want to consider his alcohol consumption prior to this development,

 

_GOTHAM_

 

“We’ve been over this. It's not safe.”

 

_PAPA DOESN’T LIKE SAFE_

 

Ed leans down next to him and places a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Oswald values the comfort and stability of his family above all else. He’d rather watch his kingdom fall than lose you again.”

 

“I couldn’t have put it better myself.” Oswald stands at the door, utterly furious.

 

Ed straightens up hastily.

 

“If I could expla-”

 

“We’ll discuss this later when you’re not conspiring against me.”

 

Elijah pulls up a chair and gestures for him to sit. “Hear us out before you jump to conclusions.”

 

Rapidly jumping from conspiracy to conspiracy until the floor falls out from under him.

 

He sits down warily.

 

“We have been concerned for some time now.” Elijah says.

 

“Is this an intervention?” Oswald scoffs. “You can pry my wine out of cold, undead hands.”

 

“Your behavior has become erratic, irrational.” Ed lists off. “ Paranoid and violent.”

 

“Business as usual.” Oswald laughs. “I’ve always been this way. You never mentioned it before.”

 

“You’ve never acted this way towards us.” Gertrud says quietly. “Not your family.”

 

“Have I frightened you?” He reaches for her hand and she is quick to reassure him.

 

“My child is in pain. I see it clearer every day.” She holds him.

 

“You want to go home, don't you?” Ed wraps an arm around his shoulder, steadies him as he always does.

 

Oswald bursts into tears. “Gotham is my home, not my heart.”

 

Elijah takes his hand across the table. “You don’t have to choose between them, son.”

 

Martin crawls under the table and Oswald picks him up, holds him.

 

_NO ONE LEFT BEHIND_

 

“No one forgotten.” Oswald promises.

 

They still have a few months left on their journey if they want to return to Gotham. Ed insists on stopping at the safehouse in Switzerland to regroup and gather supplies.

 

They spend five dreary weeks serenaded by birdsong and soft sunshine. Fresh air, kind people.

 

Oswald has never been so disgusted in his life. Sits on the dock in front of the lake house skipping stones, pretending he’s tossing heads into fires. It passes the time.

 

Ed drags him into the village with the rest of them. Gertrude and Martin pick up knitting supplies, her eye for needles sharper than ever. Martin is creating a map of Gotham entirely from yarn. Elijah departs for the local tailor to show him a thing or two. They will get run out of town if he doesn’t stop challenging his sartorial supremacy.

 

Ed and Oswald find themselves in a small cemetery. It was the closest approximation to home Ed could think of. Oswald breathes easier here. He leans up against a decrepit tree and pulls out a cigarette. Ed lits it for him, cupping his hand over the flame.

 

“Barbara mentioned something to me as you were dying.” Ed rolls his eyes.

 

“No doubt it was suitably cutting and clever.”

 

“Not terribly no. Although I was somewhat preoccupied at the time.”

 

Ed reaches for his hand and kisses it. Still delights in these small gestures of comfort before all else. Oswald is remarkably tactile, constantly reaching out for him. Ed is slowly learning to reach back, to love and be loved in return. Allowing himself to feel something not rooted in anger, desperation, and fear.

 

“She told me to enjoy retirement. I’ve been considering a career change.” It's difficult to imagine him as anything but a king.

 

“What did you have in mind, my love?” My darling, dearest, dead.

 

“We could open up a funeral parlor. Charge exorbitant fees for last farewells. On the other side, we’d deal in revitalization and renewal.”

 

“Hmmm, now there’s a thought. Operating a legitimate business, that’s a first for us both.” Ed grins, all teeth. “We could arrange for the deaths of key political figures and bring them back for a price.”

 

People popping up from their coffins. Ed holding out a credit card scanner to crying widows. Such fun they’re going to have together.

 

“Martin as your apprentice when he’s old enough. He’ll never have your natural gift of course but he’s a clever lad he’ll make us proud. We move back into the mansion of course. I’ve made arrangements to expand the library, your collection is so extensive -”

 

They have been planning their future together for some time now but to hear him speak of it with such absolute certainty - it stirs something in him.

 

Ed pushes him against the decaying bark of the tree and kisses him, achingly tender and slow. It starts to rain and Oswald takes his hand, leads him into a mausoleum for cover.

 

Shakes the water out of his hair before Ed’s hand stops him. Ed runs his fingers through his hair, rapturously. He longed to feel him this way all that time ago. To have him here now it’s beyond pleasure, beyond words.

 

“There’s something else I had in mind while we’re here.” Oswald’s not really listening too focused on Ed’s hands to notice much of anything.

 

“Hmmmm yes, whatever you think is best.” Ed smirks and tugs on his hair to get him to listen. Oswald lets out a soft sound.

 

Noted for future reference.

 

Ed presses him against the stone column of the mausoleum, hard marble cold against his skin. Toys with the fabric on his tie. “As much as I would love to see you working under me, I’d rather have you on a throne. It’s where you belong.”

 

Oswald sighs and moves his head to the side as Ed kisses behind his ear. “We agreed not to rush into the underworld so soon, we need to be prepared. I’ve lost everything.”

 

“You gained me.” Ed bites him and Oswald shudders. “I’d consider that a fair trade wouldn’t you?”

 

Oswald drags him back down for another soul searing kiss. “I definitely have the better end of that bargain.”

 

Ed groans and tries to regain focus. “That life debt you owe me is not the only one of its kind. There’s not a gang in the city that doesn’t belong to me one way or another.”

 

The second king of Gotham. “You could have overthrown me at any time. An undead army that stretched half the city. What stopped you?”

 

Bites into his lower lip draws blood. Still, the best thing he’s ever tasted.

 

Turns his fingers and Oswald’s eyes go dark and empty. “I could do anything to you, make you do anything.” Ed moves his hand and Oswald stretches out, mirroring the gesture. “There’s absolutely nothing you wouldn’t do for me.”

 

Snaps his fingers and Oswald falls to his knees. Ed holds his chin and looks into dead, black eyes. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Oswald.”

 

Eyes turn back to blue. “Power is meant to be shared.”

 

Oswald moves to his feet and slams him up against the wall, hand around his neck.

 

Ed tilts his head back and smiles.  Wraps his own hand around Oswald’s throat.

 

They kiss and their hands fall to the sides. Oswald’s hand up against the wall to provide better support. Ed’s around his waist, pulling him closer, closer still.

 

Pants and presses kisses to his hands. “You’re a miracle, my miracle, the most awful wonderful thing that ever happened to me.” Eyes almost entirely black, only a sliver of blue. “Do it, do it again.” Oswald snaps his fingers, mimicking the earlier gesture.

 

Ed’s eyes go wide.

 

“Are you, are you certain, you could be disappointed or scared-”

 

“I feel many things for you, the least of which is fear. Do it.”

 

Ed snaps his fingers. Light turns to dark.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: happygoloony


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